


We locked eyes under the fluorescent lights

by failurebydesign



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failurebydesign/pseuds/failurebydesign
Summary: Tito’s alarm goes off, but he doesn’t exactly register that it’s a thing, like, it’s just background noise that seems to make its way into his dreams. He’s at a game, watching the team when one of them scores and the buzzing— it’s not a goal, it’s hisalarm clock.( Or Tito takes an equipment management internship for the Islanders. He's late. A lot. )





	We locked eyes under the fluorescent lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaura/gifts).



> As usual, this is a locked work for obvious reasons. If your name is mentioned here, please do not continue on. This is simply a work of fiction and in no way implies anything about anyones sexual orientation, etc. In other words, this is just for fun.
> 
> This is a birthday fic for Ellie because she is amazing and inspired me to dig this one out of my docs and finish it for her. I hope you like it!
> 
> Thank you glazedsun for your rushed beta work so that I could post this today and everyone else who cheerleaded me through this story, especially Ash and Aimee. You're all wonderful and I love you.

Tito is running late.

Not just the standard 5-10 minutes late, but the embarrassing, waltz-in-and-have-everyone-stare-at-you type of late that isn't exactly acceptable the first day of your new job. His Uber driver somehow got lost along the way, and now Tito is in the back seat, frantically texting his new boss that he hasn't even met yet. 

It's always been his dream to work for the NHL, and maybe interning for the New York Islanders isn't the most ideal— he knows next to nothing about them, but they're the first team to see potential in him so he jumps on the chance.

Tito's only been in the city for three days and everything is a hundred times larger than his small hometown in Quebec. People are fast, traffic is slow, and everything is louder than he's used to. And the Uber drivers, he thinks to himself when they hit the curb on a sharp turn, are terrible. 

By the time Tito gets to the Barclays Center, any chance of meeting the team is out the window. The team meeting ended a half hour prior to his arrival and when he rushes in, tie crooked and hair a bit wind blown, he's only more embarrassed when his boss begins to laugh.

Turns out he missed the “dress casual” text.

He doesn't get fired on the spot, which Tito marks down as a small victory. Instead, he tours the building and when he ends up in the locker room, imagines a life where one of the stalls were his own. It's easy when he doesn't recognize any of the names looking back at him. So maybe chasing the NHL as a hockey player was just a pipe dream for Tito, but he smiles when he's shown where he'll be sharpening skates for the upcoming season. 

By the time he leaves Barclays, his stomach is doing this weird rumbling thing and he realizes the only thing he had this morning was half of a small cup of watered down coffee. He walks outside and it's cool, but not so much that he doesn't mind walking a few blocks to see what he can find.

Tito walks down 5th Ave for about ten minutes and ends up inside of a small Chinese restaurant that once again makes him feel overdressed. It's small, low lit and everyone is eating out of Styrofoam containers, which he doesn't mind, but feels awkward about doing it in a suit. He orders anyway, because he's starving.

“10 minutes,” he’s told when he pays for his meal.

There's a small table off to the side where he sits and watches as strangers come and go in groups. It's a huge city and it's full of people he doesn't know, many who he'll probably never see again. Knowing how big it is just serves as a reminder that he's in this journey alone.

It's then that the sound of laughter makes his head turn and Tito realizes that he isn't the only one there by himself. He's smiling down at his phone, sipping beer out of his Styrofoam cup and something about the way his hoodie is pulled up over dark hair makes Tito curious. His eyes, like his hair, are dark and even though Tito has never met him before, he wants nothing more than to know him in that moment.

Tito doesn't realize he's staring until his name is called and he just about jumps out of his seat. His order, he remembers. Tito smiles, thanks the woman and when she retreats back behind the counter, exhales.

The boy laughs, again, but this time, he's not looking at his phone. Tito's curiosity gets the best of him; he turns his head once more and in that moment, their eyes lock. 

The first thing to run though his mind is a string of expletives, the second being how badly he'd like to hear that laugh again. The boy shoots him a smile, tips back his cup and once he's done, stands. Tito can feel it all happen in slow motion as he watches the boy collect his garbage, walk in his direction with a smile and then— “No,” he wants to shout, when he rounds the corner and exits out the door.

There's a split second where Tito sits there, shocked. Was he hoping Tito would follow? He grabs his food and hurries outside, but by the time he pushes through the door, the boy is nowhere to be seen. Tito looks left, then right and can't shake feeling like he missed his chance at something great. Feeling defeated, he sighs and schedules his Uber ride back. 

..

Tito wakes up bright and early the next morning, because he'll be damned if he's late for work two days in a row. This time, he shows up at Northwell, their practice arena, in a team issued polo and track pants and the reality of it all begins to sink in.

It's much smaller than Barclays, so the tour is quick and to the point. He's a little disappointed that it's an optional skate for the team, because that means he won't get to meet them in full until their game day skate in three days which, he's already warned, will be a bit chaotic.

Tito learns that practice is one of the few times he can sit and relax. No one breaks any skate blades or anything that needs immediate attention, so he watches as a handful of players take turns shooting pucks on the net.

Jordan Eberle is first guy on the team Tito meets, when he skates to the bench with his stick in one hand and glove tucked under his other arm.

“Can you pass me that tape?”

“Sure, here you go.” Tito smiles and doesn't question why Jordan peels perfectly good tape off of his handle and re-tapes it to his liking. He's heard hockey players are superstitious and, well, unique is the polite way of saying it.

“You're the new kid, huh?” Jordan shakes his hand and welcomes Tito the the Islanders. Not to the crew or the equipment team, to _the_ team. Tito won't let it get to his head or anything like that, but he definitely can't help but feel a little proud.

He's introduced to a few of the other guys— Anders, Cal, Casey— and it's a bit overwhelming when he realizes he has to remember names and numbers to go with the faces. By the time Tito heads back to the locker room to pack up, his head is spinning. 

Tito has most of the hockey sticks packed up accordingly when he sees Jordan walking over with a smile.

“Hey man,” Jordan says, and Tito reaches for the roll of tape. It makes Jordan laugh. “No, no, nothing like that.” He looks less intimidating without his gear on, and surprisingly, shorter. “We don't usually do this, but a couple of us are going out for drinks tonight and well, you looked a bit scared shitless earlier.”

“Oh.” If Tito had a hole, he'd crawl right in.

“Anyway, you should join us. It'll be fun. There's a few guys who took maintenance today that are around your age and— you can drink, right?” Jordan must notice Tito’s face fall because he pats his shoulder. “It’s fine, come anyway. We’ll guest list you.”

“Thanks,” Tito says and when Jordan walks away, he chews on his bottom lip, like it’s something worth considering. He knows his friends back home would absolutely chirp the shit out of him for turning down a chance to party with NHL players so he tells Jordan he’ll see him later and gets back to work.

..

By the time Tito gets back to his apartment, he’s exhausted. He’s two fork fulls of cold, leftover pasta in when he remembers that he’s supposed to be going out— that he promised Jordan and you don’t break promises in a strange city when your only friends are over 700 kilometers north. 

He eats a few more bites of pasta, takes a shower and spends a ridiculous amount of time making sure his hair looks okay. Tito isn’t exactly trying to impress anyone in particular, but he thinks it’s probably a good idea to ditch his glasses and tracksuit for a night out.

His Uber driver picks him up a half hour later and the bouncer is just about to turn him away when someone— Jordan, pats him on the back and shouts over the loud music, “Lay off the kid, Dave. He’s with us.”

“Thank you,” Tito says, when they're finally inside and he feels a little less nervous. Still, when Jordan offers to get the first round, Tito is stuck between declining and accepting politely. If it's a test, then he's going to be sent back to Quebec faster than he knows it but—

“Easy there, kid,” Jordan says and it jolts Tito back into reality. “I’ll get you a juice.” 

It isn’t that Tito means to, but he rolls his eyes. Luckily, Jordan laughs and he isn't thrown back out onto the streets. There’s a few guys Tito hasn’t met yet, so Jordan introduces him. He recognizes a few from earlier, but he takes mental notes. There probably isn’t, but Tito wants to stay prepared just in case there’s a quiz somewhere at the end of this.

He ends up nursing a beer and in a pretty intense conversation with Anders about hockey sticks. Tito doesn't mean to talk about work when they're supposed to be having fun, but Anders seems just as excited to enlighten Tito and tell him all about how his stick “chose him,” not the other way around.

“A true wizard never chooses his wand,” Tito says rather backhandedly. It's super nerdy and something he regrets the second the words leave his mouth, because maybe using a Harry Potter joke wasn't one of the coolest things he could have done.

“Yeah, something like that,” Anders says with a laugh. It isn't much, but Tito likes the sense of normalcy that comes with talking to most of the guys he's met so far.

Jordan buys everyone a round of shots, followed by a second when two more guys join them. He met Casey that morning, but by the time he introduces himself to the next guy, Nick Leddy, he's already slightly buzzing from the alcohol. They become friends almost instantly, though Tito thinks it's because he’s funnier when he's slightly drunk and out of Harry Potter references. 

Tito isn’t great at math or anything, but he counts about eight guys— not exactly a full hockey team. Some are running “fashionably late,” he’s told, and a few guys, like Cal, decided against a night out. The guys are loud and fun enough that he loses count of how many shots make it to their section in such a short matter of time that Tito briefly considers backing out. He doesn't want to be lame, but thinks sneaking in a glass of water can't hurt, either.

“Be right back,” he tells the guys and then slips into the crowd. There's plenty of people around who aren't hockey players, Tito notices, when he finishes the drink he acquired last and squeezes up to the bar.

“What'll it be, rookie?” The bartender is extra attentive and Tito can't help but wonder if it's because he somehow thinks he, of all people, is on the team.

“Oh, no, I'm not—” Tito begins, but he's cut off by another body squeezing in next to him.

“Two rum and cokes. I've got his.”

Tito turns the best he can in his limited space. He can accept the drink politely, maybe pass it off to Jordan as a gesture, once he thanks whoever was crazy enough to buy him, of all people, a drink.

“Thanks, you didn't have to—” It's the second time Tito's words get caught, this time because he's pretty sure his brain can't process the familiar dark eyes that are staring right back at him.

“The Chinese restaurant, right?”

Tito nods slowly, and wonders if he can get away with pinching himself. There's no way he's awake, he thinks, when the boy leans in a little closer and introduces himself as Mat— with one t.

 _Mat_ , Tito thinks, is a nice name. It's a name, and especially a face that he wants to remember.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” Mat laughs, and when he passes Tito his drink, their fingers brush. Tito's thankful for dim lighting and a cold drink that he sips quickly to ease the warmth he feels rising over his cheeks.

Something comes over Tito which he thinks might be pretty stupid, but the way Mat smiles, focused on him and only him— Tito can't help but be completely honest.

“Anthony.” There's something about using his birth name, the name that he isn't sure anyone but his parents have called him in years, that makes Tito feel a bit more vulnerable. He doesn't like it and instantly regrets saying it, but then Mat speaks.

“Nice to meet you, Anthony.”

..

Details from the bar get fuzzy around the edges after Tito takes his last shot. Mat laughs loudly when Tito tips the empty shot glass and sticks his tongue out in disgust. 

“That was the absolute worst thing I've ever tasted.” Tito's appreciative, because Mat laughs it off, like Tito isn't just a lightweight. 

“So I take it you don't want another one?”

“No, I'm set.” Tito smiles, glances of his shoulder and then realizes that any other familiar face must have left hours ago. 

“Are you here with someone?” Mat asks.

“Sort of.” Tito takes a step in, closes the space between them and glances at Mat's mouth. He's not one to be forward, but then Mat raises his eyebrow in a way that's both cocky and confident rolled into one, and Tito knows he's not going home alone.

“What does sort of mean?” Mat pushes his hair back and looks out into the crowd. No one is watching them, which to Tito, means the team left hours ago.

“It means,” Tito says, with a bit more confidence. “I met up with some co-workers, but now I'm planning on leaving with someone else.” He's probably coming across a little too soft around the edges and knows this long before he rests his hand at the small of Mat’s back. Still, Tito smiles, face turned up and just inches away from Mat’s mouth. Mat can easily shoot him down, and he might, but Tito takes that chance. It's a new city and he's the bravest he's felt in years.

Tito catches the smallest flicker of uncertainty behind Mat’s eyes. It seems to disappear the instant Tito’s palm presses into his lower back, anchoring him right then and there. It’s as if he’s come to realize that Tito’s the one who’s chosen him.

“Okay,” Mat says, finally. He pays his tab, pays Tito's tab, too, which Tito’s ready to question, but then Mat presses a finger to his lips, like it’s his best kept secret. “So, you want to catch an Uber, then?”

“Yeah,” Tito says, softly, but smiles, like he can’t believe he’s probably going to hook up with a stranger his first week in New York. Mat’s putting his wallet in his back pocket when Tito turns away from the bar. “Yeah, just, um,” he motions his head towards the washrooms with a little embarrassed smile.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

It isn't one of Tito's proudest moments to say the least, especially since he isn’t exactly clear with his intentions. When he pushes through the washroom door and Mat follows, he doesn’t question him and when they both end up in the same stall, door slamming behind them, Tito doesn’t exactly push Mat away, either.

“Shit,” Tito says with a laugh. He knows he isn’t innocent, not with how touchy feely he’s been for most of the night and even though it isn’t like him to hook up with a stranger, especially in a bathroom, but then there’s Mat, pressed up against him, hands tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt, and he's on his way to making some sort of exception.

Mat slots his mouth against his and there’s no working up to things— everything is frantic right from the start. Tito feels any minor bit of self-control he had left slip away when Mat makes the softest of noises into his open mouth. It’s probably the hottest thing he’s ever heard and that, mixed with the ridiculous amount of rum he’s had, makes him feel like the world around him is spinning.

“Anthony,” Mat says, low, and it takes Tito a full minute to register.

“Yeah?”

“You're really fucking hot.” Mat huffs out, like he's blaming Tito's appearance for being unfairly attractive under the dim fluorescent lights. “But this, I mean, it’s kind of fucking gross.” Which to be fair, is true when they’re making out just inches away from a toilet.

“Let’s leave, then.” Tito pulls out his phone. The battery’s low, but it’s enough to get him, and hopefully Mat, an Uber back to his place. “Mine or yours?”

“Your place,” Mat says without hesitation.

“Yeah?” Tito punches in his address and waits for the confirmation. “Bachelor pad full of secrets?”

“No, my wife’s asleep.” Mat rolls his eyes and Tito has to blink a few times to process things. He’s a bit reckless, but definitely not a homewrecker. Mat just laughs. It’s possibly the worst joke Tito’s heard in awhile.

“Not funny,” Tito replies with the shake of his head. Still, he can’t help but smile. It’s a terrible joke that just about gave him a heart attack, but Mat kisses him again, rough and needy and Tito forgets that he’s supposed to be a little annoyed.

The ride back is quick, thankfully, because neither can keep their hands to themselves. Mat squeezes Tito’s thigh and he accidentally kicks the back of the driver’s seat in probably the most embarrassing knee-jerk reaction ever.

Mat doesn’t question his lack of furniture once they make it inside. Tito thinks it’s probably because Mat’s focused on getting his hands on him, which to fair, is quite a welcoming distraction.

“Bed,” Mat mumbles against Tito’s neck and then he sinks his teeth in, which only elicits a groan and little more neediness from him.

“Yeah, shit, okay,” Tito says, finger hooked around one of Mat’s belt loops as he pulls him forward. He stumbles a bit, walking backwards, but Mat, luckily, has his sweatshirt in his hands, pulling it up along the way. 

They’re both shirtless and he almost questions if Mat is his type— a little high maintenance, perfect hair, his skin-tight ripped jeans— but he pushes them down to thankfully save Tito the struggle, kisses him and works on getting Tito out of his clothes, too. So maybe he’s a little bit of Tito’s type after all.

Mat slips a leg between Tito’s and it’s so ridiculously expert, like he’s practiced and knows exactly what he wants.

“That good?” Mat asks, like he doesn’t know, and Tito half nods.

“Yeah, just—” Tito grinds up, making a soft sound and Mat presses down even more. It’s a bit shameless, the way he gives Mat’s ass a squeeze and grinds up more, breathing growing ragged.

There’s little to no slowing down. Mat grinds down just as desperate and it’s the first time Tito sees him just as needy— any last bit of composure he has left just melts away. 

“That’s, oh, fuck.” When Mat comes, it’s sudden and a bit unexpected, but Tito manages to get a hand around his dick quickly enough to stroke him through it. 

“Wow, um—” Tito starts, but doesn’t get much further. He expects a quick, reciprocal handjob but it must not be Mat’s thing, he thinks, when he sinks down further to give him one hell of a blowjob instead.

..

Tito’s alarm goes off, but he doesn’t exactly register that it’s a thing, like, it’s just background noise that seems to make its way into his dreams. He’s at a game, watching the team when one of them scores and the buzzing— it’s not a goal, it’s his _alarm clock_.

He doesn’t move until he hears a door shut and it all hits him. Tito, cursing under his breath, sits up, fast. His bedsheets are tangled around his leg and still a mess from the night before.

Mat is nowhere to be seen.

Tito knows it was just a hookup, knows that he’s the one who basically lured Mat home with him. What he doesn’t understand is why, when he stands under the shower and thinks back to Mat smiling at him from beside the bar, he feels like he was punched in the gut.

They’re stupid feelings, he tells himself, and pushes them aside. By the time he’s had his coffee and makes it to the rink, he’s forgotten all about Mat. He already has the morning practice routine down and everything is perfect by the time the team begins to show up. Somehow, he doesn’t think about Mat once, despite Mat’s gear being thrown into the mix.

Tito feels pretty good by the time the guys hit the ice, his headache fading away. It’s a great day, he tells himself, when Jordan takes off his glove and holds out his hand.

“Again?” Tito laughs and tosses him the tape. The wrong tape, apparently.

“Is there any of the blue tape? I can’t use this one.” Jordan presses his lips together, apologetic.

“Yeah, yeah, let me see what I can find.” Tito takes back the roll of tape, tosses it on the bench and when he doesn’t see any, wonders where it ended up. “I think I saw a roll in the back, hold on.”

Tito forgets the part where he’s taught to always pay attention to his surroundings— that there’s little space and multiple people all trying to move at once at any given time. He squeezes around Anders with a, “Hey, man,” and that’s fine, but then he rounds the corner and walks smack dab into someone else.

“What the fuck, dude.”

It’s a familiar voice, one that makes Tito’s stomach drop in an instant. It’s like one of those nightmares where you’re standing in front of a crowd, naked and exposed. You want to run, but something keeps your feet frozen in place. Tito takes his time when he lifts his head because maybe, if he’s super lucky, he’s wrong.

He isn’t wrong.

“Anthony?” Mat raises an eyebrow and he doesn’t necessarily seem angry, but Tito can tell something is off and that things are bad. Very, very bad.

“Wait, you—” Tito’s pretty sure that if his heart beats any faster, it’s going to fall right out of his chest. Mat, half in hockey gear, looks just as confused as he feels, to say the least. Then he remembers: the tape.

Mat opens his mouth, like he’s going to question it, but Tito doesn’t know if he’s ready to answer them. Not when Mat pretty much failed to tell him he’s sort of one of the fucking New York Islanders.

“I have to go,” Tito says quickly. He doesn’t want to think about what this probably means— how it means that last night definitely shouldn't have happened. To further his frustrations, he almost forgets what he’s doing, twice, and once he brings Jordan the roll of tape, his headaches come back full force.

“Thanks, bud,” Jordan says and Tito watches him tape and un-tape his stick. “Hey, where did you end up disappearing to last night?”

“Um,” Tito starts, but then something— a puck, hits the bottom of the boards near Jordan’s foot and startles him.

“Grow up, Barz!” Jordan shouts over his shoulder at someone— Mat, who’s laughing. “Hasn’t even met you yet and he’s already flirting. Typical.” He grins, but Tito can’t find it in himself to smile back.

“That’s flirting? What is he, five?” Tito rolls his eyes, hoping Jordan doesn’t notice how he braces himself on the side of the bench and inhales.

Jordan just laughs, sets the tape down and taps his stick on the ice a few times with a, “See ya.”

..

The rest of practice is just as awkward as Tito expects. Mat ends up snapping his stick and it’s up to Tito to figure out which is his. He does— they’re numbered after all, but when he hands the new stick off to Mat, he can barely make eye contact with him. Not when Mat tugs on the stick with quite the smirk.

What’s even worse is they’re gearing up for their season opener and it’s on the road, meaning Tito’s going to be spending quite a bit of time in close quarters with the team the next few days. He gets a bit of a reprieve when the team begins to leave and he’s taught how to get everything packed for the road.

Tito’s glad when the work is done and most of the gear is packed up on the truck. He’s only got a few hours to catch up on sleep before their flight out to Columbus.

His bedroom is still a bit upturned, which only serves as a reminder of how stupid he was the night before. He thinks about Mat sitting at the end of his bed, how he gave a crooked smile when all was said and done. Tito isn't the most versed when it comes to random hookups, but he thinks then would have been the opportune time for Mat to leave. He didn't, Tito remembers, because then there's this faint memory of falling asleep with Mat’s mouth pressed against his neck.

If he were home— _Quebec_ home, he could ask his brother or maybe a friend for advice, but the thought of texting any of them, “so I accidentally hooked up with a coworker on the second day,” is actually quite humiliating.

Tito manages to shut his thoughts off long enough to squeeze in a little less than a two hour nap. He’s still groggy when he drags himself and his carry-on bag to the airport and decides that conversation is not on his to-do list until absolutely necessary. Earbuds in, he decides he’s going to sleep through the short flight, too.

..

Columbus is a decent sized city, not that Tito is able to see too much of it at first. He has enough time to check into his hotel and then help haul as much as he can into Nationwide Arena to prepare for tomorrow’s game. There’s some concert that night, which means they’re a bit more rushed for Tito’s liking— he’s still learning, after all.

It’s already starting to get dark by the time Tito pushes his way through the hotel door. He’s starving, groggy and definitely not thinking that Mat is around, somewhere, maybe even in the same building as him. Tito doesn’t know what the team does the evening before a game. What he does know is that room service sounds like maybe the only good idea he’s had all week.

So of course, because the universe works in ways Tito doesn’t understand, he finds himself face to face with Mat the second the elevator door pops open. Jordan is with him which, in theory should be a good thing, or so Tito thinks.

“Hey, Tito,” Jordan says with a smile.

“Tito,” Mat repeats, unsure, but slowly. 

Tito opens his mouth, closes it again and resolves to a nod. There’s things he still has to explain, knows he owes Mat at least that, but can’t. Not in the middle of a hotel lobby and definitely not in front of Jordan.

“Did you eat yet?” Jordan steps out of the elevator, Mat close behind. 

Tito absolutely, positively isn’t looking and yet— he feels Mat’s eyes on him and it’s overwhelming, like there’s something drawing him in. Something he knows he can’t exactly have. “No,” he admits, even though he knows where this is heading.

“Good,” Jordan replies. “You’re coming with us. This city has some pretty great food and we’re not gonna let you miss out on that, right Barzy?”

“Yeah,” Mat says with a smile that’s calm, composed and it has to be fake— Tito’s sure of it. If Mat’s angry, he’s hiding it well. “Might be cool to get to know the guy washing our shit all season.”

Jordan gives Mat’s side an elbow that Mat must have been expecting because he swats back in an instant and then starts towards the front door. “C’mon, our Uber is waiting.”

Tito freezes, but it’s Jordan who ultimately makes him come along, because room service is nice and everything, but it isn’t a fancy steak house in a new city with new people, even if he slept with one of those people the night before.

It’s a short drive to somewhere in Short North, he hears the driver say, and Mat, much to Tito’s relief, sits up front. There’s no way he’d have been able to sit in the car for long had Mat sidled up to him _again_ — not when his mind replays the way their knees bumped together and how Mat’s hand rested, splayed across his thigh.

The moments were intimate, though Mat’s a stranger who's turned out to be practically his co-worker. Mat has to know Tito was just as clueless as he was, at least he _hopes_.

Tito glances up front, but Mat doesn’t look back. He’s quiet, face turned as he looks out the passenger window.

Hyde Park Prime Steakhouse isn’t exactly a place where Tito would go for a casual dinner. The menu has words like “wagyu,” and “E.V.O.O.,” which, Tito admittedly only knows from his late night Food Network binge sessions. It’s expensive, too, or so he thinks, because that’s always the case when a menu casually leaves off the prices.

Jordan must notice Tito’s hesitation when he gently places the menu down and looks up at him because he chuckles, doing the same with his own menu.

“Jordan’s paying,” Mat says, which— Tito didn’t even think Mat was paying attention. There's something about how perceptive Mat seems even in the quietest of moments that's telling.

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. “I dragged you here and I did sort of put you through a lot with the tape thing. It’s just—”

“He’s weird,” Mat interrupts with a grin.

“Can’t argue that,” Jordan says, shrugging. “But you’ll learn all about our rituals soon enough. We’re not exactly full of secrets in _that_ locker room.”

Mat taps his fingers on his menu, like he has a thought, then says, “Do you have any secrets, Anthony?”

Tito nearly knocks over his glass of water, which is embarrassing, but not nearly as terrible as the way Jordan looks between the two of them, baffled like he’s missed the punchline of some super secret inside joke.

“Um,” Jordan blinks. “Who’s Anthony?”

Tito’s only reprieve is that the waitress comes over to take their order. She’s ready to say she’ll come back when they’ve decided, because Mat can’t stop laughing and he’s clearly not going to be the first to order, but Tito— he needs the minute to compose himself.

When she’s gone back to the kitchen and Tito is rewarded with a glass of wine, he takes a long sip and then exhales. “It’s my real name. Anthony is, I mean.”

“Oh.” Jordan rotates his own glass, watching the wine swirl. When he sets it down, Tito can almost see the gears turning in his head. But Jordan doesn’t question someone using their nickname— that’s normal in their world. He shoots Mat a look, but for Tito, he’s all smiles. “See? No secrets.”

Jordan must notice that Tito’s feeling a little uneasy because he shifts the conversation to anything and everything that isn’t about Tito. It isn’t like he hates talking about himself, but there’s only so much to say when you’re an intern surrounded by guys with actual NHL experience.

Tito also adds expensive, delicious steak to the list of things he’s thankful for. It’s definitely the best meal he’s eaten in forever and feels a bit guilty when he hopes it isn’t the last. He takes a big bite and smiles to himself because all weirdness aside, he’s pretty lucky.

So it takes about three glasses of wine for Tito to be able to make actual eye-contact with Mat, and maybe it’s a bad idea, because once he starts, there’s no stopping. He finds out that despite living two very different lives, he and Mat are the same age, give or take a few weeks.

And Mat— he’s actually pretty funny. Most of the jokes come at Jordan’s expense, but Tito finds himself laughing, a lot. Maybe it’s rude to laugh at the guy who’s paying for your meal. Jordan could easily pass over the bill— but he doesn’t. He takes everything in stride and Tito decides in that moment that he genuinely likes Jordan.

It comes as no surprise to Tito that Mat claims the seat next to him on the way back to the hotel. There’s some sort of shift in the air and it puts Tito at ease to know that Mat isn’t completely writing him off. 

“Do you think we can talk room service into bringing us some dessert?” Mat asks once the car begins to move.

“Well, usually, Mat, that’s their job.” Tito smiles. It elicits a laugh out of Jordan and Tito can’t help but feel victorious. 

Tito's on a different floor than the team, naturally, which is probably for the best, so why he stops on the team's floor is a mystery to him.

“See you both in the morning,” Jordan says. “Don’t stay up too late.” He and pats both Tito and Mat on their respective shoulders and then disappears behind his door.

Then, they’re alone. It’s Tito and Mat and an unfamiliar shared space in a narrow, otherwise empty hallway. There’s voices, somewhere, inside other rooms, probably, but they’re faint and unimportant in the moment. It feels like Mat might say something— there’s a hesitancy in his movements, but he seems to opt for a smile instead.

“I’m upstairs, so,” Tito begins. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but some kind of conversation would be nice. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Mat says, smiling.

It’s a strange thought, but sweet, in theory. Mat owes him nothing, but then there he is, motioning his head to one end of the hallway and Tito can’t say no. So yes, he decides, and they begin to walk. Tito’s right that it’s a nice gesture, but in practice everything feels like the end of an awkward first date. They accidentally bump hands when they take the elevator up and once they reach Tito’s door, he stands in front, and wonders if he’s supposed to kiss Mat goodnight.

“This is me.” Tito smiles, because it’s the only thing that seems appropriate. Mat laughs and it does something to Tito, making his stomach do a series of flips that he can’t decipher. He’s nervous, but feeling bold and doesn’t think before he says, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah, man.” Mat shrugs, casual. “Sure.”

Tito probably should have saw the signs from a mile away. They’re hardly through the door before Mat kisses him and Tito’s sober, mostly, so it’s even better than he remembers. Mat’s a little rough when he pulls Tito closer but Tito is quick to oblige and kisses him until they’re both out of breath.

“Have to get up early,” Tito says, soft and Mat must take it as being turned down, because he drops his hands to his sides and shrugs.

“I can go.” Mat backs up towards the door and something about it makes Tito feel a little more guilty than anything else. 

“Wait,” Tito says, a bit more sudden than he’s meaning to. He knows it’s a terrible idea, but there’s something about Mat that makes it hard for Tito to say anything other than yes. 

So Mat stays. All night.

..

It’s still dark when Tito’s alarm sounds. This time, Mat’s still there, arm draped over Tito’s stomach. He’s breathing softly against Tito’s shoulder and it’s one of those ridiculous moments that’s frozen in time. Tito can’t help but wonder how he’s ended up here— again.

Mat mumbles in his sleep when Tito slips out from under his arm, but he doesn’t wake up, nor does he have to for a few more hours. Tito smiles, even though he’d like to stay in bed. He can’t be jealous when he remembers he’s going to be spending most of the day with Mat.

Tito’s morning is the fastest yet, only because he’s so busy that there’s little time to breathe. Nationwide Arena is huge, busy and Tito is so impressed by every little detail of the game day process. Once the visitor locker room is set up and practice jerseys hung, Tito takes a moment to stand back and take it all in.

It’s a full team skate, fast and intense, but Tito’s lucky enough to get to spend most of it observing. Jordan doesn’t bother him for any tape this time, but Mat flips a puck over the bench and grins when Tito looks up at him.

It makes for a very awkward lunch.

Mat grabs some food from catering and when he passes Tito gives the sleeve of his shirt a playful yank. He doesn’t stay— there’s something about a pregame routine that Tito promises he doesn’t have to explain, and agrees they can catch up later.

Tito has a hard time wiping the stupid smile off his face long after he sits down to eat his lunch with Jordan.

“So are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Jordan raises an eyebrow once Mat is out of an earshot. Tito freezes.

“It’s, what?” He says, slow.

“Did you hook up with him?” Jordan nudges Tito from across the table, like it’s meant to be a joke, but it’s really, really not.

Tito just clears his throat and doesn’t think he can look Jordan in the eye.

“No shit,” Jordan says a little quieter.

“You— did he tell you?” Tito’s eyes widen when he realizes that he just confirmed everything Jordan was asking.

“Oh man,” Jordan laughs. “Jesus, you're really not kidding, are you?”

“It's not funny!” Tito's a little loud— it warrants a questioning look from Anders, but Jordan keeps laughing. Frustrated, Tito leans in and repeats, lower, “It's not funny.”

“I don't know,” Jordan says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “From where I'm standing, it's pretty funny.”

Tito drops his head in his hands and groans because, to be fair, it would be hilarious had this happened to literally anyone but him.

“So, okay, I don’t need details because, wow, no thank you. But…” Jordan waits until Tito lifts his head to continue. “Yesterday, I’m guessing?”

“And uh.” Tito takes a deep breath because he can’t believe he’s about to admit to this. “That night at the bar, maybe?”

Just when Tito thinks Jordan’s finished, he bursts out laughing all over again. It’s terrible and all he wants to do is crawl under the table, if only that wouldn’t bring even more attention to their conversation. So, fine. He hooked up with Mat. Twice. He lets Jordan laugh it out, because fair enough, and then exhales.

“Isn't this like, illegal or something?” Tito bites his lip, because if he’s going to get fired, then they might as well make it quick.

“Illegal? No. Frowned upon, maybe, but I don't think there's anything in the rulebook that says don't sleep with the rookies.” Jordan taps his chin and then grins. “There'd be plenty of guilty people in this business, then.”

“Wait, you mean Mat— with other people?”

“No, no.” Jordan sets down his fork and leans back in his chair. “I mean, we’re all rookies at some point.” He smiles, this time a little more genuine and maybe things aren’t a complete disaster like Tito thinks.

“Can you just do me one favor?” Tito pushes his empty plate towards the middle of the table.

Jordan nods. “Yeah?”

“I haven’t exactly, uh, come out to everyone around here,” Tito says and instantly realizes just how big such a confession is. It’s not like he expects Jordan to be shocked, obviously, but there’s still so many, family aside, who don’t know the way Tito works. “So, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Jordan says softly and it’s reassuring enough that Tito thinks he can calm down. “It’s not my place to tell. I’m a pretty great secret-keeper. You’d be surprised.”

“Oh?” Tito raises an eyebrow, interest definitely peaked.

“Can’t tell you.” Jordan grins. “Secret.”

Tito feels pretty lucky to have found a quick, trustworthy friend in Jordan. He can’t help but wonder what type of secrets Jordan, and maybe the other guys on the team, might possibly have. But that’s the last thing on his mind when he’s called back to work and Jordan gets up to throw away his garbage.

“Thank you,” Tito says with a wave before Jordan heads back to the hotel.

..

Most of the work is already done, save for sharpening the goalie’s skates and once that’s done, Tito, too, can head back and take a little nap. He doesn’t see anyone once he’s back at the hotel, which is nice, because he’s already about to average a three hour nap.

When his eyes fall shut, Tito thinks of how Mat flips a puck into the bench just for him and drifts off with the slightest of smiles on his face.

It’s a short nap and much less satisfying than he was hoping for, but the minute he rubs his eyes Tito’s phone buzzes and he’s awake— there’s little point in hitting snooze. It’s a good luck text from his mother, which is nice, and yet Tito feels sad.

Tito is back at Nationwide Arena before most of the team, which again, is normal when you’re an equipment manager. He surveys the locker room, proud of the hard work he and his team put in.

It isn’t until he glances at Mat’s hanging jersey that his excitement begins to bubble up and Tito realizes that they can’t accidentally avoid each other forever. In a short while they’ll be on the bench— _together_.

“Looks great,” Mat says from somewhere behind Tito, yanking earbuds from his ears.

When Tito turns, smiling, his breath catches. He knows the team’s required to wear suits pre-game— he should have expected it, and yet Mat, standing there, tugging at his tie is far more than Tito thinks his brain can handle. 

“Yeah, same,” Tito says, exhaling.

“What?” Mat laughs, pulling his tie off. “Oh, the suit? Yeah, thanks.”

Tito has to tear his eyes away, if only because Mat begins to unbutton his shirt the minute some of the other players begin filing into the room. Clearing his throat, Tito turns to the exit. “Uh, so yeah, good luck!”

He doesn’t breathe again until he’s out on the bench, the drop in temperature cool against his cheeks. It’s only a short while before the seats begin to fill up and his insides are a mix of nerves and excitement.

Tito knows his parents are watching, likely at the edge of their seat, hoping to catch a glimpse on the screen. It’s silly, to Tito, but also nice to know that even if he messes it all up, he’s loved. 

There’s a loud boom— the cannon, that Tito forgets exists because they’re in _Columbus_. It makes him jump and someone— Mat, laughs when he makes his way out on the ice for warm ups. 

Tito instantly hates the cannon and hopes that’s the last of that.

As it turns out, it isn’t. Columbus scores five unanswered goals, shutting the Islanders out.

Their flight home is silent.

..

Tito is given the next day off despite their being a game that night. He spends most of it sitting home, ignoring the calls that come in from his family and friends. If he messed up, he doesn’t want to know.

A knock at the door is what finally pulls him up from his wallowing position at the end of his couch.

“Finally,” Mat says, squeezing into the apartment. “You’ve been ignoring me all morning. And you never showed today so I thought you quit on us.”

“What? No.” Tito runs a hand through his hair, feeling a bit embarrassed. “They told me to say home today. I guess I messed up when—”

“You did _not,_ ” Mat interrupts, kicking the door shut. “They ripped us a new one this morning. Probably wanted to spare you from having to listen to that for an hour. Then we just… skated around like a bunch of scared assholes for another hour.”

Tito doesn’t laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously,” Mat says, rolling his eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Why _are_ you here?” Tito doesn’t move, just examines Mat’s slow changing facial expressions.

“Do you not want me here? ‘Cause I can just leave.”

“No, no,” Tito says quickly, wondering when he became so reliant on Mat’s attention. “I was just watching TV. Stay.”

Mat looks past Tito, laughing. “The TV’s off, man.”

“Yeah,” Tito replies, thinking on his feet. “It has an _off button_.”

 

“Whatever.” Mat shrugs, making himself comfortable on Tito’s tattered couch. “Turn it back on, we can watch a movie.”

Tito does, but he doesn’t get much further than sitting and flipping through a few channels before he feels Mat’s breath on his neck. Then, remote abandoned, they’re kissing, open-mouthed and desperate and Tito hopes it’s a good enough distraction to wipe the morning’s practice from Mat’s memory— at least temporarily.

It’s not how Tito envisioned his afternoon going— knees hitting where the front of his couch meets the hardwood floor, body settled between Mat’s legs in a hurried attempt to get his mouth on him. Mat reciprocates with an appreciative hum, fingers sliding through Tito’s hair.

“Shit— that’s— wow.” Mat’s eyes close and the sounds he make only encourage Tito— whose only goal is to work harder until he brings Mat toppling over the edge. 

Tito’s never quite been one to pride himself on his blowjob skills before— not until Mat, hips tilting and panting beneath him quickly begs to be touched and Tito knows he’s almost there.

He brings one hand up, tentatively, at first, mouth still working over Mat, guiding him to a loud, near-messy orgasm. Tito is quick to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand then presses a kiss to Mat’s thigh, listening to his sharp, satisfied breaths. 

“Kind of better than a movie,” Mat says when he finally opens his eyes.

“Kind of?” Tito furrows his brows, because maybe he’s overestimated his skills after all.

“Okay,” Mat says, helping Tito back on to the couch, lips meeting in the middle for a slow, grateful kiss. “A lot better.”

It’s then, Tito nestling against Mat’s side, stomach doing flips, that he realizes this isn’t just hooking up— it’s so much more. It’s Mat, taking his pregame nap, breathing softly against Tito’s neck. It’s Mat, eyes lighting up when they beat the Sabres, hugging Tito once they’re back at his place. It’s Tito learning that Mat isn’t embarrassed to bring him home, it’s just easier not to when he’s living in a veteran’s basement. It’s Mat, slowly, accidentally at times, leaving a few things behind each time he leaves.

Then they hit the road.

It’s hooking up, but it’s also consistency— Mat’s hand resting over his knee, the pad of his thumb making small circles while they watch TV in Tito’s California hotel room. It’s the two of them, sneaking out one night to explore Anaheim, because _you only lost by one goal_ , Tito reminds Mat and _you’ll win next time_. It’s Mat, kissing him slowly the one night that he leaves Tito’s hotel room— Mat speeding them up the remaining nights he stays. 

By the time they return to New York, Tito hardly notices that nearly two weeks have passed since the season opener. Mat is pacing Madison Square Garden, hyping himself up in a pregame routine that Tito has already begun to learn.

..

Tito knows right away that games against the Rangers are a pretty big deal. There’s a huge rivalry between both teams that makes walking into Madison Square Garden ten times more exciting.

The arena fills up a lot quicker than Barclays, which doesn’t surprise Tito all that much. Before his job, he’s always seen the Rangers as the _Top Dogs_ of New York. It’s the first time that being _technically_ home feels like away— when the team takes the ice and they’re automatically booed.

Mat doesn’t let it phase him, just skates around and shoots the puck into an empty net a few times. He stays focused all the way through warm ups and well into the game.

Tito can tell he’s determined— searching for this first career goal.

They’re already up by two goals and then… it happens.

Tito cheers, loudly, and it’s fine because the whole team does, yelling when Mat comes down the line, fist bumping them all with a large smile. He catches Tito’s gaze and they exchange matched smiles, Mat unable to look away until the end of second period and he’s forced to make his way down the tunnel.

“You scored!” Tito grabs Mat by the shoulders and it doesn't even matter that his face hurts from how much he's been smiling. If he wasn't obvious before, he definitely is now.

“That's my job,” Mat says back with a laugh. “Besides, did you see the way de Haan fed me that puck? Shit. That was all him.”

“Still.” Tito shakes his head because he doesn’t believe that one bit. It was a really nice goal, somewhat dirty goal, but it was also a goal on _Henrik Lundqvist_. “Stop being so modest, I was going to buy you dinner but now— “

“Hold on,” Mat interrupts. “Ask me again.”

“Mat.” Tito rolls his eyes, because he wasn't asking Mat on a date just— dinner would be nice, better if it were the two of them, alone.

“Yes?” Mat crosses his arms across his chest and it's obvious he's not going to say much else until Tito continues.

“I liked your goal, idiot. Let's go out to eat.”

“Not yet,” Mat says suddenly, laughing when the buzzer sounds. “We have a game to win.”

“Then why did you make me ask you?” Tito practically shouts with a laugh, watching Mat follow his teammates back out onto the ice.

Third period starts off full of promise, Tito looking forward to following their potential win with a non-date dinner. Then Rangers score— twice.

“Fuck,” Mat curses, sitting on the bench and all but pouring water from the bottle over his face.

They’re all frustrated now and Tito knows better than to say anything— staying alert in case he’s needed. This time, luckily, he isn’t.

They go to overtime— then a shoot out, but, in the end, win.

Tito is ecstatic. 

..

“So where are you taking me to dinner?” Mat’s hair is still slightly damp when he and Tito connect again. 

Tito, still a bit naive to the city, hadn’t thought that far ahead. “What do you like?”

“Anything.” Mat shrugs, totally unhelpful. “Burgers?”

Burgers are cheap, messy and not exactly ideal for what Tito was secretly hoping might turn a bit romantic, but then Mat’s eyes light up because he _knows this really great place_ and it’s hard to Tito to say no to that.

When they finally sit down, it’s loud and crowded and Tito’s pretty sure Mat shouldn’t be eating something this greasy, but it’s also _amazing_. Mat smiles through the entire meal, stealing some of Tito’s fries under the guise that he didn’t order enough of his own but two or three extra should be okay.

It’s not a date, Tito reminds himself, when Mat goes to pay and Tito has to stop him with an, “I promised. We’re celebrating your goal, remember?”

Mat, reluctant but smiling, lets him.

After Tito pays and they’re back at his apartment, Mat drops his things in the corner and does his usual routine that ends with making himself comfortable, this time in Tito’s bed.

“Staying the night?” Tito stands in the doorway of his bedroom, watching as Mat settles beneath Tito’s bedsheets. He doesn’t mind— Mat’s already taken to what has become _his_ side of the bed.

Mat, yawning, nods. “If that’s okay. No kids here. It’s quiet.”

“I’m guessing the kids are in bed,” Tito says with a laugh. 

“Yeah, but so am I,” Mat points out. “And I’m not moving now.”

Tito grins, pulling off his shirt. He can’t argue with that logic.

“Thanks for dinner.” Mat whispers, arm snaking around Tito’s middle once they’ve both settled into a comfortable sleeping position.

It feels like a dream, everything around Tito becoming floaty as he fades in and out of sleep. If it _is_ a dream, Tito doesn’t want to know. He’s happy, he content— he’s pretty sure he’s falling in love.

 _Love_ , he thinks, that feeling lingering when he drifts off.

It’s something that Tito expects to disappear when he wakes up— to brush it off as an oversight, because he can’t develop feelings for Mat— he’s just an _intern_ after all.

Then, Tito opens his eyes and Mat squeezes him around his middle, reminding him that he’s still there. Any and all of the feelings that Tito tries to bury away resurface the exact second Mat presses a kiss to Tito’s shoulder.

“Guess I should get down to practice.” Mat sits up, slow, and the warmth from his body leaving Tito’s side causes him to shiver.

“Now?” Tito runs his hand along the top of his dresses, grabbing for his glasses. It’s later than he expects, frowning when Mat rises to his feet. He knows Mat has a job, he has the same one— sort of— save for actually playing the game. 

Mat, nodding, pulls on a t-shirt and heads towards the door. “I’ll come back with lunch.”

So maybe, Tito thinks, Mat getting out of bed isn’t so terrible after all.

..

As the season progresses, they win some but also lose a little bit more. Tito spends most of his free time with Mat, but it’s nothing more that either seem ready to discuss. By January, everything is uncertain.

They’re off for the day after a particularly bad loss to Arizona, checking in to a hotel in Vegas when Jordan stops Tito outside of their bus.

“Hey, can we talk about something?” Jordan’s voice is low and Tito immediately knows what this is about.

“We’re not dating,” Tito says, continuing his job of making sure the bags are loaded properly under the bus. “And even if we were—”

“If you were I’d know already,” Jordan interrupts. “Trust me. It’s not that.”

Sighing, Tito stops, standing up straight. “Then what?” 

“Please don’t tell me you have no idea.” The way Jordan looks at him is telling that something, somewhere is off. He doesn’t speak until after he looks around, making sure there’s no one else around who might be listening. “Why _aren’t_ you two dating?”

Tito, thinking about it, shrugs it off— like it _isn’t_ a thought that keeps him up at night. “It’s never come up?”

“You really _don’t_ know,” Jordan says with an incredulous laugh.

Tito _doesn’t_ know much. He knows that he likes spending time with Mat— that he likes his job, too and therefore, has to try his best to keep things as separate as possible. He also knows that they’re in Vegas, the city made for taking chances. If what Jordan’s implying is good, then Tito feels like gambling.

Then, Jordan frowns and Tito’s mind jumps to the worst case scenario. Mat could be into him, but Mat could be into _someone else_ , too. 

“Is he— is there someone else?” Tito thinks about his job again, how difficult it’ll make the rest of the season if Mat decides to move on. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to face him again if they’re done with whatever it is they’re doing.

“Seriously?” Jordan deadpans. “Ask him out. You’d be surprised.”

“We go out all of the time,” Tito is quick to reply, because he can no longer count on one hand how many time they’ve gone out to eat, just the two of them. Jordan knows this. Anything else that happens from there, well that’s for Tito to know and Jordan to speculate. 

“You know that’s not—”

“What are you two up to now?” Mat appears at the side of the bus, giving Jordan a playful but stern look. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”

“Don’t be stupid, Barz,” Jordan says, rolling his eyes. “See you two kids later.”

“The fuck was that about?” Mat laughs, leaning in dangerously close.

“I don’t know,” Tito says with a shrug. It’s a little white lie, but Mat doesn’t know that. “He’s weird.”

Mat laughs, again. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m almost done here if you want to go get some lunch,” Tito says, casually. He doesn’t call it a date, but hopes that this time, Mat picks up on his subtlety. His mind wanders, focusing on the first result to come up when he frantically searched _Romantic restaurants in Vegas_ on the flight over. The first result, Top of the World, was the only one that stuck. 

“Sure,” Mat hums, scrolling through his phone. “It’s Vegas, there’s gotta be somewhere we can eat. Wait, do you like golf?”

 _Golf_ , Tito thinks, isn’t exactly romantic. “Yes, but,” he begins.

“Great!” Mat laughs, slapping Tito on the back. “I’ll go change and we can go to Top Golf. I hear that place is pretty sick.”

The only thing less romantic than golf, Tito decides, is bar food.

He tries not to feel too crushed when he slips into his hotel room and changes from a polo shirt to a t-shirt. It’s still one-on-one lunch with Mat. _No point in dressing up_ , he tells himself, fixing his hair when a knock at the door shakes his focus.

“It’s just me.” Mat’s voice is muffled when it comes through the other side of the thick door.

When Tito opens it, Mat is smiling. He isn’t _just_ Mat _,_ Tito thinks _._

“You ready?” Mat isn’t dressed to the nines head-to-toe, which Tito expected, but he managed to change out of his Adidas sweatpants, put on some nice shoes and actually looks more than decent in the white t-shirt and jacket he showed up in.

He looks nice— like his outfit was something he put a decent amount of effort into. His hair, falling perfectly, captivates Tito, making him nod stupidly, blindly reaching for— and missing— his wallet that is just out of reach.

“Uber’s like two minutes away,” Mat says on their way to the elevator.

He sounds distant. Tito has to shake his head to snap out of the daydream. It’s not like Mat actually thinks it’s a date. They’re going to be surrounded by tourists and televisions and greasy bar food. They’ll golf, probably, and Tito already expects he’s going to make an ass of himself. He’s rusty and nervous when all he wants to do is to impress Mat— to give Mat a reason to think that maybe, despite being just an _intern_ , he’s worth it.

They spend most of the drive talking about hockey which, to Tito, comes just as naturally had he actually been a player. Mat’s excited to play his first game in a new arena and, though he knows the odds are against him, is optimistic.

“I think you’ll win,” Tito says when the car parks and they climb out.

“That’s the plan.” Mat grins at Tito, looking over his shoulder.

Game aside, Tito’s pretty sure he’s already won.

They grab a table and instantly, Tito can see why Mat suggested the place. It’s busy, but not nearly as overwhelming and loud as he had initially expected. They can’t get away with drinking here, but Tito forgets about that the second he looks over the menu.

“They have short rib tacos,” Tito says, rather surprised.

Mat laughs in response. “Yeah, why, were you expecting fake cheese on fries?”

“No.” Tito wrinkles his nose and by the time he reaches the sandwich menu is more than ready to eat. “This is better… much better.”

Lunch turns into laughing, joking and them renting a bay, seeing who can hit golf balls further. Mat talks quite some big game and it would be intimidating if Tito weren’t still so determined to impress.

He expects to lose, but rolls his shoulders, swings and in the end… wins.

..

“I went easy on you,” Mat says when Tito unlocks the door to his hotel room and they step inside together.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He shuts the door, dropping his room key and wallet on the counter with a smile. “You were really stressing out near the end.”

“I was _not_.” Mat laughs, tugging at the bottom of Tito’s shirt. He’d be angry, normally, watching the fabric stretch, but then he’s forced to take two steps closer to Mat and everything seems _right_ in the world.

“You were practically tearing your hair out of your head,” Tito says, rather smug, voice just above a whisper.

“It’s fine,” Mat responds with a grin. “I’ll beat you next time.”

Promise of a _next time_ makes Tito smile and his stomach swoop. Next time, he thinks, it’ll be a real date. He already thinks about going back— planning a trip over the summer, or something— just the two of them. _Like a real date_ , he wants to say. “We’ll see,” is what he says instead.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Mat says, tugging Tito’s shirt again. “You’ll see what it’s like to lose.”

Tito opens his mouth to protest. He means to, really, but then Mat’s lips hover over his. The space between them becomes nothing more than a sliver, Tito fighting the urge to close the gap. 

Mat presses his mouth to one side of Tito’s, caught somewhere in between a kiss and a smirk. Tito remains still, wanting nothing more than to kiss him— knowing it’s a game.

“Fine, I’m bad at golf,” Mat says when he finally speaks, mumbling against the corner of Tito’s mouth.

Tito’s lips curl into a smile, feeling slightly victorious yet again. He knows there’s a catch if Mat’s admitting he’s bad at something— it’s Tito’s game to win now. Upper hand all his, he straightens up, full of confidence. “I never said you’re bad. I’m just better.”

He expects a slick comeback or some sort of eye roll, neither which come. Mat falters, face twisting into one of downright confusion. It’s enough to elicit a snort from Tito.

“What’s so funny?” Mat retorts a full beat too late.

“You’re an idiot,” Tito says easily.

Mat grabs Tito by the collar. It’s rough— it’s sudden— it’s _hot_. If he’s trying to intimidate Tito, it fails, bringing him closer until Tito grabs back, cupping his face, slicing the thick tension that hangs in the air the minute his tongue touches Mat’s lips. 

It’s not the slow, steady, and romantic goodnight kiss at the door that Tito was hoping for. It’s rushed, frantic and by the time Mat’s expensive jacket hits the floor, Tito realizes that Mat likely _isn’t_ going to say goodnight.

“There’s a game tomorrow,” Tito manages to breathe out, only after Mat breaks away from the kiss long enough to unfasten the buttons at the front of his pants. He’s loose in wrapping his fingers around Mat’s wrist, not wanting to stop him— _yet_ — but knowing if they don’t there’s no sleep to be had.

“Mhm.” Mat presses his mouth to the hollow of Tito’s neck.

Tito melts against Mat’s fingertips as they graze against his stomach. _There’s a game_ , his brain tells him. _Take him to bed_ , it also tells him. The second, stronger thought is the one that wins out, pushing any logical thoughts out of the picture.

His back hits the mattress, laughing when Mat goes with him, teeth clacking when they kiss again, hands strewn all over one another. Tito knows he isn’t but feels drunk— intoxicated on Mat’s kiss alone.

“I’ll wake you up,” Mat says, kissing down Tito’s neck, stopping to pull their shirts off one by one. By the time he settles between Tito’s legs, their clothing is long gone and Tito isn’t looking back.

He hums into another kiss, nearly knocking the lamp over when they turn over. Tito pins Mat down this time and when Mat doesn’t fight back, just gasps in surprise, hips rolling up, Tito knows it’s going to be good.

Time moves quickly despite Tito trying his best to make Mat work for it— his initial plan of taking him apart piece by piece is scrapped as Mat’s blunt fingernails dig into his shoulders, loose limbs turning taut and pulling him down for more.

Everything grows warm, starting in the pit of Tito’s stomach and moving down to the tips of his toes. As expected, Mat is good— _too good_ , taking all that he’s given and still wanting more. With each shaky, drawn out thrust comes the rise and fall of Mat’s chest— heavy, raspy breathing and soft sounds that take Tito elsewhere in his head.

When it’s all over, they’re silent— tangled and breathless.

Tito haphazardly cleans them off, ready to see Mat out, but Mat doesn’t budge. He’s quick to make it clear he has other plans, turning off the lamp. Tito can just barely catch him smiling in the dark before he settles against his side for the remainder of the night.

..

Mat’s fingertips graze Tito’s side and it’s enough to gently wake him, lying in that hazy state of bliss between sleep and awake. He feels rested— a little _too_ rested.

“Fuck,” he says quickly, eyes flying open when he checks his phone, the alarm having been completely missed. He throws back the covers, heart beating— _hard_.

Mat stirs, sleepily running a hand through his messy hair, voice scratchy when he speaks. “Again? You just can’t control—”

“No, idiot,” Tito says, “I overslept _again_.” He’s out of bed, hopping into a pair of pants quicker than Mat can move, frustrated that he’s spent the last week fucking up over and over again. Tito’s hands are shaking by the time he pulls his shirt on over his head.

“Just call and say traffic was a bitch or something.” Mat sits up, sighing. It’s evident he’s never used that excuse before because unlike Tito, Mat’s never been late. “You know the train runs late sometimes and they’re always diverting people.”

“Yeah, it runs late by like, 15 minutes, not— Oh God— _Two hours_.” His voice gets higher when he realizes just how late he is. He’s already missed several calls and only makes it halfway through his voicemail, lowering his phone upon hearing his boss— _Anthony you better have one hell of an excuse_ —

Mat’s on his feet, rolling his eyes when he puts a hand on Tito’s shoulder. “Calm down, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal to _you_ ,” Tito says, instantly regretting how harsh his voice comes across. Still, he doesn’t take it back— even when Mat winces slightly. He’s too busy dialing his boss’ phone that only goes straight to voicemail. 

“It’s not—”

“This is—God, you know, this is all _your_ fault.” Tito can hear how his voice gets shaky at the end and when he inhales, it’s ragged and unsure. It’s an internship, not a guarantee, so why— Tito wonders— is he _so_ upset about the potential idea of losing it so soon.

Mat doesn’t respond this time, busying himself with pulling on his previously discarded clothing. He yanks his shirt on over his head and Tito would be certain he’s glaring if he weren’t avoiding all eye-contact.

Tito’s phone buzzes— a text from his boss that’s blunt and to the point that reads: 

_Just get here. Now._

Mumbling under his breath, he grabs his wallet and opens his mouth to speak, Mat instantly cutting him off as he walks around him to get through the door.

“I’d say see ya, but clearly that ship has sailed.” Mat’s eyes tell two stories— dark and almost fiery— _angry_. Then, he blinks and for a split second, Tito’s certain he feels something more— like heartache. 

Tito considers following him, but stops himself. It’s game day, he remembers, when Mat puts in his earbuds and disappears down the hall. He’s already cost himself his own job— doing the same to Mat would just be cruel.

Taking a deep breath, he waits.

Once Tito’s sure Mat is gone, he, feeling defeated, opens the door.

He expects the hallway to be as empty as he feels, chest heavy when tugs it open and, to his surprise, comes face to face with Mat.

“Look I—” Mat begins, voice scratchy.

 _Fuck it_ , Tito thinks when he grabs Mat’s face, leaning in to kiss him— hard.

He’s already late.

..

The game ends and against all odds, the Islanders win, sweep the Knights in the series. It’s just two games, but the team is pumped and full of positive energy after a few tough losses. Going into All-Star Weekend winners, Tito learns, is a huge morale boost.

Tito can imagine how loud the locker room is about to be, watching them file down the line one by one. His boss gives him a look, as if to say _you’re lucky_ when he walks by. Tito, not pressing his luck, just nods.

“We fucking won!” Mat just about yells into Tito’s face once he’s showered, hair messy and eyes bright. It’s a nice change from the sad, pissed off version of Mat that Tito had to face earlier.

Tito just laughs, patting him on the back. There’s an awkward silence— Tito bites his lip, Mat shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’d kiss him had they been alone. Then, media comes in and Mat nudges him. “Talk later.”

They don’t talk— at least not much.

He shoots Mat a text, asking him to meet back at the hotel before they both leave town. Mat, he assumes, is going home. Tito, lost beneath a pile of jerseys, doesn’t quite know where he’s heading. Home, for him, is spread out across two countries these days.

Tito is exhausted by the time they get all of the equipment taken care of and loaded up. He’s pretty sure Mat’s long gone— celebrating with the team or already enjoying his week of freedom. The texts stopped coming after Mat sent a single winking emoji hours ago.

Fumbling with the keycard, Tito pushes inside of his Vegas hotel room for the last time. Flipping on the light, he jumps, startled to find that Mat, fast asleep in his bed had, at some point, already let himself in.

“How the…” Tito mutters beneath his breath, quieter now knowing he’s no longer alone. He slips out of his shoes and Mat turns, blanket shifting slightly as the muscles in his bare back stretch.

“You’re late,” Mat says, voice just above a whisper, smile tugging sleepily upon his face. “ _Again_.”

Tito lifts his shirt off, tossing it into a crumpled ball towards Mat. “Fuck you.”

Mat hums, as if he’s considering it. Tito would be lying if he wasn’t, either. Of course, as easy as crawling into bed with Mat would be, Tito knows it’s not the answer— not with so many unanswered questions hanging in the air.

“I told you you wouldn’t get fired.” Mat smiles, patting the spot next to him.

“Yeah, I still don’t know how. I should have been on my way back to Quebec hours ago.” Tito obeys, sitting, wondering how he ended up in this situation— being invited into his own bed.

Mat shrugs, sheepish. “I took the fall.”

Tito’s head tilts, turning to get a full view of Mat in all of his shirtless, bed-headed glory. He blinks, slowly, trying to comprehend what Mat means by that. Despite what he said earlier, it was never _Mat’s_ fault he overslept.

“Told them it was some rookie prank, that I swiped your keycard and shut off your alarms.” Mat laughs, running a hand through his hair. It doesn’t help, just provides a slightly distraction for Tito, watching as it becomes more of a mess.

“You fucker—”

Mat, laughing, leans into Tito’s side. He’s warm for an idiot. “I didn’t really do that. You _know_ I didn’t.”

“But why?” Tito’s eyes soften, feeling his insides melt. He’s pretty sure that his heart melts a little, _too_. “I mean didn’t you get in trouble?”

“A lot,” he grins. “But it was worth it.”

“When is getting in trouble _ever_ worth it?” Tito raises an eyebrow, focused on how calm Mat is, even after knowing he was likely reamed out for a prank he never _actually_ pulled.

“When it’s with you,” Mat says quickly, like the words he’s just spoken don’t carry immense weight beneath them. They make Tito pause, open his mouth and close it again when Mat nods, confirming Tito’s heard him correctly.

This time, when they kiss, Tito feels the shift of it all, his world sliding into place. All of the times he’s been late— to New York— to work— even in meeting Mat— were all part of some confusing push down a path far different from the one he intended to take.

When they break apart, Tito realizes:

Being an equipment manager _sucks_.

He planned on staying— on figuring out what drives him, what he truly loves. What Tito didn’t expect was that he’d find those things in Mat Barzal. Taking a deep breath, he leans in again, hoping Mat’s there to catch him when he takes his next big leap.

..

**October, 2021**

Three years ago, Tito was sure he had it all figured out. He’d work the the NHL— someday, somehow. He didn’t plan on quitting his internship halfway through the season. Then again, he didn’t plan on falling in love, either.

“Hey, catch,” Mat says when he rounds the corner, tossing his phone to Tito.

He fumbles, but catches it with a laugh. “Jesus, couldn’t you just text me a link or something?”

“Just look at it.”

Tito rolls his eyes, unable to keep from smiling when he looks down, then smiles, seeing the words for the first time: _Islanders Community Relations Director - Anthony Beauvillier_.

“When were you planning on telling me you were promoted?” Mat grins, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a big grin. “I think I deserve to be one of the first people to know when my boyfriend gets a promotion.”

Tito rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “They work fast. I just found out this morning. Besides, I found out you were given the C from Twitter so don’t even—”

“Okay, okay,” Mat says with a laugh.

Three years ago Tito was running behind the scenes, living on little sleep and living what he _thought_ was the dream. He thinks back to All-Star break, running through the streets of Vegas with Mat— kissing under the lights and really thinking when Mat finally posed the question:

_What do you want to do with your life?_

His stomach had churned, thinking about his path— remembering:

Being a equipment manager _sucks_.

They traveled to Arizona and standing at the Grand Canyon, Tito felt small. Mat kissed him, asking him again:

_What do you want to do?_

It was an easy choice.

To move to NYC. To be with Mat. To make a _difference_.

He did all three.

“So,” Mat says throwing an arm around Tito’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality. “I guess dinners on you tonight?”

Snorting, Tito shoves him playfully. “I’m the one who was promoted. _You_ owe _me_.”

“Fine,” Mat says, tugging him in for a kiss. “But only because you’re going to be pretty busy working with the team’s captain for the next players event. Don’t want you getting too comfortable with the guy.”

“Nah,” Tito shakes his head. “I hear he’s a diva.”

“Hey.” Mat gasps, pinching Tito’s side. “Asshole.”

Three years and a few big changes later, Tito’s never been happier. His path, though full of delays, slowed him down just enough for him to find his way. As it turns out, being late was the best thing Tito could ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on twitter @ dejadejayou or titobeauvillier on tumblr!
> 
> Minor appearances from Cal Clutterbuck, Anders Lee, Casey Cizikas.
> 
> Title inspired by "Chinese Restaurant" by Scott Helman - aka the song that inspired the "meeting scene" in this story. Give it a listen, it's adorable.


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